Brothers and Fathers
by HomoSapienSuperior
Summary: Defeated, Loki is finally being hauled back to Asgard to pay for his crimes against humanity...However, Loki, being the epitome of mischief, has always had a back up plan. Since he fell to Earth, he's allied with a radical group of mutants with an agenda similar to his, and he'll need the power of their leader's daughter to finally gain control of Midgard and its heroes.


So this is my first fanfic, and I guess I don't really own anything except for my own interpretations.

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It's been 7 fucking years since she held any _true_ power of any kind. Seven depressing years since her "father" and all of the others left her to the desolation and misery of passing the days with cartons of ice cream and reality television. Today she had chosen vanilla and the History Channel, wearing her red track suit and idly spooning the last vestige of happiness into her mouth. It dribbled down the corners, and she lazily wiped it away with her sleeve. Her dark auburn hair was tied in a messy bun, her face was much paler compared to her old self, almost anemic looking, while her eyes were encircled with dark rings. She turned the volume up as The History of Evolution played out on the small screen, making her scoff. It was old, from the early 80's if the cheesy graphics and fashion were any indication. They were digging up bones in Egypt, finding a mass grave where dozens had sacrificed themselves to a "god on earth" whom experts believed to be a "spawn of two genetically altered individuals." How politically correct of them, and yet so ignorant. He would have been a Superior, like she used to be, and not of the common man. And she would know

She sighed. She couldn't ever stop herself from thinking back to the "good days." What had happened to being a family? After that pathetic fight at the prison and all of the death, there were no consolations nor any sense of togetherness left within her comrades. Battle worn, they had quickly dispersed back to their hovels and rocks to create new and pathetic lives for themselves, unsure of the bland future ahead of them. She thought about the dart hitting her neck, the poison rushing through her blood stream and all sense of self was drained from her as she dropped to the ground. Someone had then stepped on her, cracking her ribs, leaving her heaving on a dirt floor. She had lain there, giving up dreams of paradise and watching the world burn as her father found her and attempted to drag her ass from the skirmish. She had insisted on staying behind, to be dead to the world, but someone else had helped him and she was carried to safety.

But she supposed enough about those thoughts, and changed the channel to a news station.

A week after that, Daddy Dearest had left her. He had given her a communicator and the promise "we will rise again." All of her faith and dedication had been put into his vision of Utopia, free from the confines of the shadows only to be left with a shell of her former self. She had stared down at the communicator with hatred, noticing there were no buttons. It was only one way, and she would be forced to wait on his word. Saying nothing as her former hero left her to misery. She attempted to move on, to be "normal," to get a real job to live life under a corrupt and hateful government, but deep down, she knew from a great amount of experience that anything was possible. She later supposed that she could afford to believe him, so she would hope for the call from her father, keeping the small black device with her at all times as she served her time in purgatory.

Only recently had she felt something begin to return. She had just come back to her dismal town home from her equally dismal office job, ready to eat the most disgusting meat loaf on the planet. The day had been hard, and all she wanted was food and some form of alcohol burning her throat. As the microwave was heating the slab of brown meat, she retrieved her flask from her purse and downed the rest of her hidden stash of whiskey. It was the last of it until next pay day. As she was thinking of the good days (as she so often did) she had sighed wistfully, remembering the power of flight. She couldn't reach the altitude of most planes, but the freedom she had felt when airborne had given her such happiness. Just the thought of it had made her warm with nostalgia, but that feeling had soon turned into something much more. It started in her stomach, pooling there until it began to spread through her body, and more so than that. She felt it heal that dark hole she created for herself. Tears streamed down her face as she looked to her hands

Her finger tips were buzzing with energy as they began to glow red. Faintly of course, but it was there, her muscles tensing and reacting to the flow of what she could only describe as pure power. She had laughed lightly, at first, but as she stretched to try and fill her entire being with that surging glow, she couldn't help but laugh louder, unable to control the giddiness.

_True happiness does come from power._

The microwave had beeped, and before she could stop herself, she had thrown a small bolt of energy. It hit so fast and hard that it slammed the appliance into the wall behind it, causing the lights to flicker. As it continued to spark she looked at her other hand and grinned. She threw the bolt and engulfed the microwave in flames, incinerating it completely.

Unfortunately, as she had stared at the ashes piled on her cheap granite counter, she had felt something tug at her heart strings.

_To what use will I be?_

Her father was abroad somewhere, she was sure that he was developing his own powers. Without him, there was no use in fighting. She lacked the control and grace that he effortlessly carried when he spoke to their people.

_Their people._

She had smiled, and hoped beyond hope the communicator would ring one day.

It's been two months since then, and her joy diminished every day she was made to wait. Depressed yet again, and still laying down on her couch with melted ice cream and television, she felt fat. Lazy. She couldn't fly, she could barely produce more than two bolts a day, and to top it all off, what was the point? Her people weren't being treated as poorly as before, there was relative peace (save for the occasional Iron Man or Hulk havoc) and no attempted contact received from anyone in the old gang.

"Fuck. Fuuuuck. Fuck." She mumbled, switching through different news stations, licking the last bits of vanilla from her spoon. She stopped when she saw a small husky on channel 7, delighting newscasters as he appeared to say the words "I love you."

_Really it seems more like a bunch of whimpers strung together, he was probably only making those sounds because his owners will feed him an extra- What the hell am I doing? _

Lonely, frustrated, and full, she was about to call it a night, (happy news stories made her weirdly twitchy) when all of a sudden an urgent bulletin caught her eye, interrupting the _delightful_ giggles of the reporters.

"And I'm sorry to cut this short, but we are receiving word of an attack, an- an invasion? An…invasion of…extraterrestrial life, falling, invading…from the sky in….New York City. What?" The reporter looked puzzled, looking around the station for something to confirm it. She whispered into her mic "Is this real…Marc!?" When live images began replacing the original screen, that's when she really began paying attention. It was shaky at best, but from what she saw she knew that she was missing out on something big, and perhaps the best chance to have gotten some action within the past 7 years. Dozens of creatures, or spaceships, or whatever the hell they were, dropped from the sky like bombs, shooting and causing all sorts of chaos. The camera was dropped to the ground, cracking, as something slithered (or did it walk?) by. It became smoky, screams could be heard in the distance as someone fell in front of the camera, trying to get back up and run. Something fast had whizzed by, picking her right from the ground and she was gone. Then the scene changed, it back to the studio, where one news caster sat behind her desk, obviously troubled and looking more than disturbed.

"Our," she breathed and righted herself, "our producers are pulling the live images off the air. The entire city has been quarantined, but according to reports it would appear that the new super hero team 'the Avengers' have joined the fight. Consisting of Iron Man, the Hulk, and who appears to be Captain America. No word yet on the status of the X-Men or Fantastic Four, but it's clear that New York is not without its defense. President Obama and Ambassador of the United Nations, Dr. Henry McCoy, will be speaking in a few moments, concerning defense actions. Evacuations are under way and- We are receiving pictures of the devastation in New York"

Captain America, this Thor guy, Iron Man, the Hulk, where the hell were the X-Men? Or Spider-man? Daredevil? The fuck is going on over there?

And then her communicator lit up, and everything became even more surreal.

"If you are able-bodied and receive this message, I'm in great need of you. If you can hear this, pick it up and hold it in your palm."

She threw her bucket behind the couch and scrambled for the communicator.

"Dad?! Dad, I'm here!"

"Are you…well?" 7 goddamn years and it takes an alien invasion for him to inquire about her health. She scoffed, and let out a low giggle, too happy to say that she was fan_fucking_tastic.

"Yes. YES! Well, mostly, some minor adjustments to make later"

"It will do, there seems to be an emergency in New York, there's a man there who has promised to help us if we were to assist him in any way that we can. He is now currently in a bind and as allies we can not stand idly by. We will need your talents, dear."

"I'm in, dad, just get me out of this suburban hell hole!"

"Welcome back, Scarlet. Meet us on the roof."


End file.
